


Discussing Role Reversals

by gelfling



Category: X-Men, X-Men First Class - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, M/M, Smut, plot what is plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelfling/pseuds/gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Charles Xavier character study during sex, though not really <i>about</i> sex.  Also, Erik gets to do indulge himself thoroughly and blame it all on "team building".<br/>Words 2032</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discussing Role Reversals

It had started, as most things did, with an argument; namely (as they often were) how Charles was right because Charles was _always_ right, but also because he was a telepath and, most importantly, because he was _Charles_. And thus always right.

Erik had disagreed. Charles had disagreed with Erik's reasoning (”I'm not always right” countered with "That's not what you think") until Erik had suggested a practical demonstration, as a test. Nothing could possibly go wrong, he had added, because Charles was always right.

"Tch!" Charles hisses, and whams a fist into Erik's side. "That--"

 _Hurts_ , he doesn't get to say around a surprised gasp, because Erik bites the back of his neck (lightly, he doesn't want to leave marks yet), and tries wriggling his finger around a little. He has Charles on his hands and knees—a position Charles takes to like a duck to gasoline, incidentally—and a single finger wriggling around Charles’ ass.

 _You're not even trying to be gentle, are you? I agreed to all terms and you're not even--_

"Charles," Erik murmurs into his ear, stroking his side, "Stop whining."

 _relax_ Erik thinks, trying to force serenity (something he has very little real experience with) and confidence into the thought. _you're fine_.

 _You've got your fingers inside me,_ the thoughts are panicky sharpened glass in his mind, curry-hot annoyance, _and actually, before you say anything, you're a lot_ bigger _than I am and no I'm not all that comfortable with this, and actually can we just say you're the better man and--_

“Calm down,” Erik kisses the back of Charles neck, strokes his cock--softened, warm and damp though not quite limp--and tries to be comforting. It's not something he has a lot of experience with, but some of the tension in Charles’ shoulders and spine eases out with a resigned sigh.

Erik rubs his chest, tugging lightly on the faint smattering of hair and playing with his nipples until Charles twitches a little more into his hands. Charles has the body of an underfed teenager, even with gray already streaking his hair, and responds physically almost as readily to Erik’s inexpert touches.

It had seemed only fair, really, to trade positions once and a while, for Charles to be on the receiving end at least _once_ in a blue moon, to know exactly what he did to Erik.

 _But you enjoy it_

 _if I can be patient, you can too—_

 _Plan to hide in your head for the rest of this, just so you know._

"You're such a wimp," Erik mutters as Charles' body slumps prettily under him, necessary muscles relaxing around his fingers that were _very_ liberally coated with lube. He kisses the back of Charles’ ear, warm and soap-smelling, and keeps stoking him until Charles relaxes a little more into the bed, putting his weight on his elbows and tilting his hips upwards, the way he’s seen Erik (and how many others? Erik isn’t the first, he knows that) do. "Not going to hurt you."

Charles chuckles dryly in his mind, a dry scratchy presence twitching gently in the far corners. _I know, I know. At least not intentionally, right?_

Despite of his reluctance and general apprehension ("You want to do what?") Charles trusts him, because Charles tends to trust almost everyone.

This deficiency likely comes from Charles' overwhelming goodwill towards the whole _world_ , unless it’s the fact (as Erik suspects) that he can lobotomize a city from a distance of fifty yards with his eyes closed. Regardless of the source, Charles really _does_ trust people far too readily; even police and humans.

Just because Erik doesn't _like_ that fact doesn't mean he can't take advantage of it, and worms and scissors his fingers until Charles' body can probably take his cock. Charles sighs and stutters, finally responds the way Erik needs him to because _there_ is the little bundle of nerves Erik had been searching for, the one that will convince Charles that, really, this is a good idea that should be repeated. Often, and not always in bed.

"Mmmm," Charles arches against him, "ok, that's not so, so--ah, that's nice..."

The presence stretches against Erik's mind, warm and fuzzy and restless--

 _I won't hurt you. I'll stop if it hurts._ Although Erik can’t actually guarantee that; he’d like to say he was constantly in control of himself, but he knows himself to well. Better than any telepath could, certainly, though telepaths like to think they know everything about everyone.

 _Except you really won't want to stop, old boy,_ Charles knows him better than what Erik had ever intended.

Charles grins at him over his shoulder, sweaty and flushed and disheveled, and quite possibly the most fuckable thing Erik has seen in a very long time. His lips are swollen from worrying them with his teeth, and his hair points in all directions. _Don't worry--I promise not to break._

"Really," Erik removes his fingers, feels the relief run through Charles, and pulls him tight against his chest. Squeezes his skinny pale hips, because Charles is far too health-conscious and modern to have any fat, anywhere. "Well, you did promise."

"Wha--ow! Christ! Ow, damn it--"

Erik is unreasonably, unnaturally attracted to a swearing Charles. He shouldn't be and he shouldn't be driving into him like this--

"--absolute bastard, ahh, I'll --"

\--but it really is _fun_ to throw a curve ball every now and again, to push the-ever-so-perfectly-adjusted Charles Xavier off-kilter, and besides, Charles is still arching against him, gasping in shock and surprised moans between the curses. He can't feel too bad inside Charles; almost nothing can keep Charles silent if he chooses to speak his mind, with sexual stimulation being one of the few exceptions.

The twitchy, fuzzy feeling in his mind--Charles' biological feed, Erik had insisted, he wasn't going to miss any precaution--is more confused and jittery than actual pain or fear.

His ass shoves back, rolls and rubs against the hollow in Erik’s hips, pressing him deeper and closer and later Erik will feel bad about leaving so many teeth marks in Charles’ pale and perfect shoulder. He’s learned quite a few ways to keep control in bed, regardless of positioning, but he’s learned most of them with Charles, and Charles isn’t above stealing someone else’ techniques. Although Erik is sure he isn’t this noisy in bed, whimpering and wordless begging as the body under his writhes and arches. Later, Erik will regret the bruises he leaves on Charles’ hips, will chide himself for riding that tight slick _heat_ far too hard with too little finesse but for now…

For now he does things he is sure they will both regret later, but not enough to keep from doing it again. He leaves his fingerprints and nail marks all over thinly-muscled thighs and strokes and squeezes until Charles shrieks deep into the mattress, shuddering and spurting underneath him.

Intellectually, Charles _knows_ what anal penetration feels like, the same way he knows how flying and performing open heart surgery feels like. Charles has—crudely put—second-hand knowledge of being everyone and doing everything, and is reluctant to acknowledge the short-comings of second-hand knowledge. Erik had pointed out that knowledge and understanding were not the same (“Hemmingway, old boy? Thought you didn’t like Americans”*), and it did one well to gain as much experience as possible.

Charles gurgles under him, weak and breathy and needy, and there’s really nothing in the world to prevent Erik from flipping him onto his back and sliding back in, studying Charles with an intensity that tends to make others wet their pants.

Charles just stares back, sated and exhausted and with the most unnaturally bright eyes Erik has ever seen. Charles’ eye color could be artificial; one never finds that sort of electric blue in nature.

Erik is considerably quieter when he comes, in shudders and strangled gasps; it almost feels like Charles is judging him. Measuring him.

It’s not a feeling he’s suffered…in a long time. It’s something he never expected from Charles, and he has no idea what he might have done wrong.

Erik is careful not to fall on him, and settles on his side, pretending not to be immensely relieved when Charles curls around his shoulder. He dislikes the unnecessary intimacies, but Charles seems to thrive on them.

"So," Erik slides a hand through his hair, smoothes back the messy nest against Charles' skull. "What was the first-hand experience like?"

Charles glares at him weakly, face half-buried in the pillow. "You are not funny."

"No," Erik massages a shoulder half-heartedly, because he is still quite taken with the novelty of having Charles speechless and keening underneath him and actually would like a second round that he's probably not going to get. Not if Charles won’t even look at him. "But you see my point. And for your first time, you managed rather well."

 _Eagerly_ Erik doesn't say. _And not at all like a novice._

If Charles hears that, he's chosen to ignore it. And at this distance, in the fading afterglow, Charles has to make an effort to ignore _everything_. There's a muted groan from the pillow, and Erik's content--temporarily--to stroke Charles' back.

He left far too many bruises. Just as well Charles can’t see him grinning.

“You didn’t answer my question, all-mighty Xavier.”

"Mmmmgrnf."

Erik taps the back of Charles' head lightly, before pushing him further into the pillow and then getting attacked for his valiant efforts at conversation.

It's an interesting turn of events; Erik wanting to talk for once, Charles inexpertly wrestling to get away and/or pin him. Erik indulges him, because when Charles is cranky and glaring, he really is quite irresistible.

Erik has never seen a reason to avoid temptation, and so long as Charles' mouth is right _there_ , grim and soft over his, there is no reason _not_ to resist. Until Charles bites and shoves him to the edge of the mattress, glowering from the depths of one of the pillows while Erik balances with one foot on the floor. Charles’ hair is still standing on end.

“You look like an angry Persian cat.” Erik means it as a compliment, really. “I’m not going to stop, you know.”

Charles screws his eyes shut before jerking the pillow over his head.

 _I lived the majority of my adult life with over-sexed socialists and neo-Freudian psychologists, Erik. I have never experienced a single collegial event_ without _being informed of the rugby’s team latest group debauchery or learning how the professors preferred their extra credit homework; and yes most of it_ did _take place under the desk, except for Microbiology, who preferred blondes bent over the podium. I know about sex, Erik._

“As often as you have me in bed, I should hope so.” That hadn’t been the question, and Erik means to avoid being confrontational until Charles turns unbearably priggish. This should happen in roughly five minutes.

The mattress sighs.

 _I know how sex feels from both_ sides _, Erik, and you’re still underestimating the emotional transfer. I know how it feels for women, and even with non-humans. Animals._

“What?”

 _I don’t want to talk about it and I don't want to think about it and it's mainly why I failed my first term on Neural Biology. But this was more and less than a whole new experience, all right? Nothing…too new. Call it draw._

Erik takes a moment to get his breath back, and consider Charles’ proposal.

“So,” Erik does not believe in stalemates, only in necessary breathers in between victory and defeat. He means to convince Charles of _that_ too, one day. “Was it a goat? Or a sheep—“

There is an impassioned and vehement yowling from under the bedclothes, and Erik files the noise away for future use.

“This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t a depraved voyeur.”

Charles kicks him to the floor, and Erik pounces back with the sincere intent to wring that yowl out of Charles a second time.

If he wins, it will only prove that Charles enjoys it.

***  
Another Note: *I can't actually find the knowledge/understanding quote, though it _seems_ like it should be Aristotle. I'm subsituting Hemmingway anyway, so I can keep the American joke.  
Please let me know regarding spelling/grammar errors.


End file.
